


Strawberry Shortcake

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Love Crumpet [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Double Penetration, Dresses, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Non Consensual, Orgy, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian was lounging at his feet, leaning into Jim; the collar was on a chain, pinned to the floor between them. For now, the attendees were mostly drinking and chatting, but Jim sensed how it was going to go. He was on display in a god damned dress. This could only end badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Shortcake

It would be amusing, Jim Moriarty supposed, if he thought about it overly much. Mostly these days, he lived in his head, because it was that or a pink fucking princess room in an attic. 

He had severely underestimated Mycroft Holmes when he had decided on this plan. That made it a bad plan, and he didn't want to think about the fact that he was responsible for a bad plan. He would rather continue to consider how the hell he was going to get himself and Sebastian out of the man's clutches.

Now it was the both of them. He could tell that Sebastian hoped that having to keep track of and control the two of them would somehow stretch Mycroft's concentration and give Jim an outlet. And it should have. It really should have, except Sebastian ran criminal world errands just like before, ran the business, now with the addition of a GPS-enabled shock collar during his daylight hours.

Shame he hadn't thought about that before; not that he hadn't, only he had... a tendresse for Sebastian Moran. His Sebastian. He obeyed orders. He thought of things Jim wanted almost before he wanted them. He was an excellent shot, and he was even better than that in bed. He hadn't needed a shock collar. He simply did it and needed no threats to keep him in line. Sebastian self-regulated, and the shock collar was unnecessary, tacky showmanship on Holmes's behalf.

The man had a ridiculous penchant for the show of things, not that Jim couldn't understand that. He was fairly fond of grand gestures himself, and so it was perfectly intelligible. The thing of it was, he hated that Holmes was playing with his toys. Toy. Whatever, because Sebastian was his, and it was clearly there in the care he was taking with the razor and the lotion he slid over Jim's legs. "I'll be honest, you're going to look a little stubbly and... you in a dress."

"And that is my problem why, again?" It wasn't. It was fucking Holmes's problem, in fact. If Jim had warped sexual tastes, Holmes had clearly been a longtime consumer of obscure German and Russian pornography. It had equally clearly affected his sexual preferences. Some people simply had difficulties separating reality and fantasy.

"I'm just noting it." Said the man with the heavy leather collar around his neck who likely had to explain why it was there to their business associates. He was doing a careful job of shaving around Jim's ankles, apparently comfortable sitting there in undershirt and boxers.

Their associates likely assumed that Jim had decided he was pretty that way. If they dared to consider it at all.

"Noted," Jim replied, voice so dry it nearly crackled. There was no way to get out of this, not just yet. There were likely explosives in the damned collar, and he wouldn't put it past Holmes to have chipped both of them like dogs. "I doubt it will embarrass him."

Sebastian's thumb rubbed at the bony point of his ankle even as he drew the razor up Jim's leg.

"I think embarrassing him isn't the point of the evening." There was a tuxedo on the back of the chair for Sebastian, which was much more dignified -- at least in theme. He was sure that upon closer inspection it would become a worse idea than the skirted horror that was prepared for him, but for the moment, one of them could feign dignity.

"Hmm." Yes, perhaps. Jim was fairly certain that he was being drugged, more than a little. It made it hard to think sometimes, re-wired the pathways in his brain so that his thoughts skirted brilliance in a way that made him want to stab something. Then again, he couldn't pull together the desire to commit violence more than thrice a day.

"C'mon, stay with me here. Don't leave me making small talk at your feet for no reason." Sebastian had already shifted to the other leg, and was stroking the back of his calf. The man had always been a horny fucking bastard. Not that Jim didn't have his moments, only lately they were few and far between.

He couldn't imagine why.

"Well." Jim pretended to consider the matter. "I suppose." Mostly, he was enjoying the touch. It was marvelous, the feel of Sebastian's hands stroking over his skin, easy and perfect.

Unthreatening as well. He wouldn't make a motion past relaxing touch without permission, and permission was not about to come. That was fine by Jim, as was the way he smoothed lotion over Jim's legs, creeping up his thigh to finish shaving. "When was the last time you left the compound?"

Time had gone strange on him, shortening, lengthening, wobbly, so he wasn't certain of how long it had been. He knew when it had been, though. "I still thought he was going to let me go. Just watch me. Let me get back to my plans." That had been part of the plan, in fact. "He decided not to. Perhaps I was a bit... mouthy."

Mouthy, and whatever he'd done had been so much that the man had decided not to let him go. Sebastian was watching him intently, and leaned up to kiss his knee. "Christ. Okay. Well, this is at least a change of scenery..."

"A change of scenery. In a dress." The kiss was nice, though. "We'll see. Are you done?"

"Unless you want me to shave more, I'm done." It was a strange place in his life. Once he'd nearly ruled the world. Now he was contemplating whether he preferred rape with or without his balls shaved. What the hell.

"No, darling. I think for now, I'm going to let you make me pretty in other ways." He had no idea what either of them was going to manage about that, but at least Sebastian had a sister. That was more than Jim had.

Sebastian lingered, easing himself back to his haunches before he stood up. "All right. I'll get the makeup."

Fantastic. "Let's have fun, then."

* * *

Fun. Ha. Fun was not standing in a corset and dress so tight he could only breathe in the upper part of his chest while people wandered past, leering at him. Fun would be carving his name into the face of Mycroft Holmes.

Sebastian was lounging at his feet, leaning into him, and the collar was on a chain, pinned to the floor between them. For now, the attendees were mostly drinking and chatting, but Jim sensed how it was going to go. He was on display in a god damned dress.

This could only end badly.

Now and again, Holmes would send one of his goons with hors d'oeuvres on tiny plates, and Jim would feed them to Sebastian with his fingertips. Never let it be said that James Moriarty couldn't put on a show. He was going to slam his heeled foot up the ass of Mycroft Holmes at first opportunity.

It hadn't provided itself yet, but it would. Someday, it would. He just needed the opportunity. Sebastian was quiet, but he hoped that he was stewing just as badly as Jim himself was, between bites of food.

"I must admit surprise at finding you here."

If his spine could have straightened any more, he might have snapped. Instead, he tipped his chin upwards, the ridiculous crystal-accented mask on his face doing a bizarre feathery _thing_ , and he stopped breathing for a very long moment. "Hello, Sherlock." He made it as insulting as he could in two words.

"Moriarty." He glanced briefly at Sebastian, and dismissed him with his eyes. Even with the mask, there was no hiding that it was Sherlock -- it was ridiculous, even if his masquerade costume was some sort of pirate's flourish. "So much to say to you. And yet it marks every inch of you."

"Does it, now." God, he felt slow. Slow and thick, and he knew it was the drugs, whatever they were. His fist shook, wrapping tightly around Sebastian's leash.

Sebastian squirmed, leaning up against Jim's leg. "You're choking your poor companion. I'd be more upset with your situation, however, I also quickly divined what you did to John."

Jim faked a yawn, head tilting to the side. "Nothing to harm him, surely. Not at all like your brother, and I can only imagine what you might do. After all. Some things are in the blood." He should know. He had heard it all his life.

 _That boy's bad, just like his father. That boy's a waste, just like his mother._

Sherlock's hands were folded behind his back, and he rocked up on his toes, looking sharply at Jim. "I'm considering if that should remain in imagination. But I'm not finding it interesting."

"You should." He rolled his head to the side, cracking his neck. "Eventually, he'll be looking to your little pet for entertainment." Jim leaned forwards and whispered loudly. "He does like the feisty ones."

Immediately, Sherlock's head moved, tracking through the crowd. Hah, that was lovely, getting the man to give away Watson's position in the crowd like that. He was sure he never would have flinched if someone had said that about Sebastian. "I'm unconcerned."

Jim couldn't help himself. He laughed, a bright peal, tossed his head back with a coquettish gesture. "Oh, darling. You do give yourself away so desperately. You have no idea how amusing I find you."

Licking his bottom lip, he stepped in closer to Moriarty, too close. Up onto their small show pedestal close. "You lost the game."

Oh, that stung. "I've lost many things," he demurred, flicking a deadly look through his lashes. "But don't worry. Your time will come."

"But not from you, Moriarty. That's a shame." He rocked on his heels. "Good luck tonight. Perhaps you should start drinking soon."

Reaching down, he slipped a hand into Sebastian's hair and petted him slowly. "Undoubtedly. Your brother is a sick fuck. There are Russian porn stars less filthy and depraved."

"My brother's proclivities aren't my concern. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone with morals. Dull." He twitched an eyebrow at Jim, and then turned away, and Jim let him. Didn't say another word, just continued to stroke Sebastian's hair, gentle and easy.

Something had ought to be this evening, and he had a feeling that absolutely nothing would be.

* * *

So far, Moriarty and Moran had been the talk of the party, a strange tableau in the midst of stranger company, everyone on their best behavior until the first pin dropped. Until Watson chatted up some woman in an effective manner and it actually took for once. With her on her knees in front of him when Sherlock went in search of his companion, well.

Mycroft supposed one horny former soldier triggered off the real party where the rest of the delicately kinky scene, caught up in their postures and looks, hadn't yet. Sherlock watched for a moment, said something to Watson, which Mycroft knew he accurately imagined as chastisement for losing focus on their purpose there, and then an offer of something else interesting.

Perhaps he shouldn't be enjoying himself quite so much, but there was no point in denying himself. Moriarty was such a fun toy, and he had spent most of the ride over spilling adorable, helpless venom, making it seem as though none of this bothered him at all when it clearly bothered him immensely. It bothered Sebastian, only Sebastian had a kind of resigned duty to his task, the posture of a soldier who was adept at dealing with distasteful tasks and unfortunate assignments. For Moriarty, the man would do anything he was told to do.

It apparently began with fellating Sherlock. How entertaining. Mycroft's baby brother had never been particularly sexual. In point of fact, Mycroft was certain that before Captain Watson had come into Sherlock's life, he'd had no sexual experience whatsoever.

Ah, but things changed. There was still an air of inexperience about the man, watching him thrust into the good colonel's mouth. It was hard not to imagine him doing the same to Captain Watson, who wasn't responding with the jealousy Mycroft expected. Perhaps that was to follow, as getting a blowjob from Moriarty's companion clearly would be followed by doing worse to the man in the dress. That was the truth of the matter -- that things changed, and Mycroft had been utterly certain that this would turn out to be diverting. Why else would he put his delicious Irish love crumpet on display for use?

He edged in closer, to hear and see it all in greater detail while Sebastian worked his little brother's cock. Moriarty was steaming, while he stepped in close enough to touch the man's shoulder. "Why don't you fuck him already, dear brother?"

"Because that isn't the point, Mycroft." The breathy sound of it was, in all honesty, a bit disturbing. One should never need to consider the sex sounds of one's siblings; however, this was indeed a special occasion. "I believe that I will wait until John is free."

That was an interesting idea, a concept at which Mycroft could guess. He hadn't had the opportunity to do it yet, personally, but watching would be almost as good. Getting it done right would hinge on having a willing ally, of course. Moriarty had clearly twigged to it as well from the creeping red that was sliding up his neckline. 

Sebastian pulled back with a wet noise, and swallowed before getting back to it. 

Being one of three people in the room who could tell exactly what was coming was delectable in and of itself; almost orgasmic, he supposed, and smiled benignly, hands folded neatly in his lap as Colonel Moran continued to suck. Quite the experience, that was. It was the man's own fault that it always took so long, because there really was a sense of nuance to the act when he did it. He was still sucking when Watson wandered in, openly and appreciatively staring.

"So this is why everything went quiet."

Oh, yes, indeed, and Mycroft smiled. "He does have such a talented tongue. I have found him to be quite enjoyable." The little growl from Moriarty made it even more delightful. "Not to mention well-trained."

"Not now, John, later. This is sex and I'm sure you'll remember what unit it was if this reminds you of the man..." Sherlock pulled back, pulled out, leaving Sebastian to swallow.

That mild expression was so telling, honestly. "Hm. Yes. Hello, Colonel Moran. I would say that it is a surprise to see you here, only I do seem to recall there were rumors..."

It obviously made Moriarty angry, and that was simply adorable. It made Mycroft feel as though he owned a spitting cat, and he knew that his amusement was clearly written upon his face. "Clearly quite accurate rumors, John."

"You're the last one who should be talking about 'rumors', Captain." There was a sort of disheveled dignity about the man that made it fun compared to Moriarty's spiking rage, the way his eyes went wide and tight as though he were in pain. He wiped at the corners of his mouth, while Sherlock pivoted to look at Moriarty.

"I want him held still for me. For us."

Mycroft could see the way that Moriarty's jaw tightened, the way he looked at Sherlock as though the sheer force of his anger and will could change anything. Mycroft breathed in deeply, the stirring in him hot and tight as he leaned forwards in his chair. "Colonel. I believe it would be excellent practice for you to do as requested."

"Fuck." He was still for almost a moment too long before leaning in to slide an arm around Moriarty to pull him down from his standing position. "C'mon..." So sweet, really. Moriarty was still fuming, alternately flushed and then pale, and Moran touched him, fingers soothing and then tugging at the froth of tulle and crinoline. Mycroft was uncertain whether anything else had ever been so utterly filthily scrumptious. "Just close your eyes." Well, at least for a moment, he'd let that ride. Moran sat down, pulling Moriarty with him, a hand on his hip up under the fabric and fabric and fabric, the other on one of his arms. His legs weren't perfect, weren't soft and womanly, but they were tensed, held together as though it would make a damn. Honestly, as though he shouldn't be accustomed to being thoroughly buggered by now. Interestingly enough, he did close his eyes when Moran told him to do so.

"Well?" Watson stood there, watching the two of them. He didn't bother glancing at Sherlock, a fact that Mycroft found interesting.

He didn't need to consult with Sherlock to confer as the other man crouched in, sliding fingers along the inside of Moriarty's thigh. "Lube, John. Then, you can go first." But he just wanted to feel first. Sherlock had never displayed any sort of sexual desire, or perhaps it was simply that he was completely emotionally backwards and there clearly was no point. John Watson had brought that out in him, and Watson was stroking a hand along the outside of Moriarty's knee, considering the matter. His view was occluded for a moment by the both of them, but he could see Moriarty's expression, eyes closed, and Moran's grim determination. He could see the moment where Sherlock penetrated the man with his fingers, watched the way he sucked in a hard breath with his chest and swallowed. Clearly this would bear watching and further consideration. Perhaps dinner parties with entertainment, in fact. Sitting back, Mycroft steepled his fingers together and smiled.

"Perhaps there is something that could be used to better efficacy," Watson suggested. "I'm not partial to fucking anyone bloody."

"There's enough lube." Sherlock leaned in, almost cheek to cheek with Jim as he slowly worked fingers -- two, perhaps three from the slight shoulder motion that had started -- into him. Moriarty was clearly finding the entire experience difficult, no matter how he tried to hide it. His head was thrown back, theatrical gasps and murmurs sounding, but his fingers were clenched on Moran's knees, the knuckles white from the force of his grip.

"No," John said. "I mean, yes, but I was thinking. We're at a debauched sex party, Sherlock. Surely there must be something more interesting to open him up."

"Oh. Oh, yes. Find something you like the look of." He eased back, grinning to himself as he kept his eyes on Moriarty's face. Seldom had he seen his brother look so keenly delighted. "I can see you trying to work through it."

"Oh, but honey, it feels so good." The lie of it could be tasted in the air, in the concerned glances from beneath Moran's lashes. Mycroft could only imagine how angry that would make little Irish Jimmy if he could see it.

"Let's do something you're clearly already familiar with, then." Sherlock stayed crouched down, hard and barely tucked into his pants, watching them both. "Why don't you prepare him from where you are, Moran. Or is it Colonel?"

He didn't answer Sherlock, but his hands stilled on Jim, body all tension underneath the good suit. It was whatever Mycroft said it was, and they all knew it. It was so charming, having people who were intelligent enough to play his game. Even John Watson and Sebastian Moran were more than bright enough to follow some of the layers. 

Moran bared his teeth in something like a snarl, and his fingers tightened momentarily on Moriarty's upper arm as though holding on to him would change anything. There would undoubtedly be bruises later. Bruises that didn't come from the banging the man was about to receive. "Give me the lube, then." He held his hand out, expression flattening out at last. Sherlock pressed it into his palm smoothly.

"You might as well be bare arsed for it. This is a party, after all, and you're far too overdressed."

Both of them, and the crudeness of Sherlock, that was a bit of a shock to the system. He must have picked it up from John; after all, it was entirely possible to learn bad habits from one's pets.

Moran let go Moriarty entirely, standing to pull off his trousers. Jim remained seated, an angry thing amidst layers of pale pink and white, head tilted back, lips bitten carmine. His dark eyes were hooded as he watched, and when he finally spoke, it wasn't unexpected. "I have missed getting a proper seeing to, I suppose." Moran laughed quietly, fondness in the tones in a way that Mycroft knew that he and Sherlock and Moriarty alone would recognize. There wasn't much to laugh about, but it had surprised him how helpful and supportive Moran was of Jim. A brightly useful but wholly unexpected factor in the equation. He settled back down on the floor, naked and shameless about it, crushing creases into the dress Jim was wearing as he pulled him back against him again, lube in hand. 

"I'll make it feel so good, Jim..."

They were such good, albeit angry pets. "As if there could be any doubt." Clearly not, because he was settling over him as though accustomed, rocking forwards gently.

"How sweet." Sherlock's sneer was unmistakable. "Do find something useful sooner rather than later, John."

Something, yes, and Watson was still perusing a variety of items that were available in tucked away in baskets here and there throughout the room. "Patience, Sherlock, is a virtue."

And not too much of a challenge for his brother just then, as he fished into his own pocket for a pack of condoms. His eyes were fixated on Moriarty's cock, his balls, the slide of fingers up behind his testicles prior to penetration, and Mycroft spoke. "Perhaps I'll have him pierced. What do you think, Sherlock?"

The sound of his voice sent a shiver through his baby brother, one which was clearly unpleasant. "It seems gauche. Overdone." Yes, perhaps, but it might also prove interesting. Not so nice as watching Moran's fingers delve into the slick little hole, or the less fake sounds of Moriarty just then. He liked those less fake sounds, the softer sighs and bitten back groans. He wanted to get Jim to the point where he didn't put on those fake noises anymore.

It would take years to break him down that badly, and it would be a pleasure. 

"How about this?" John suggested, wandering back with a lurid bright purple thing. The size of it was not insignificant; it could prove quite unpleasant in combination with Moran's cock, but that would not keep Mycroft (nor, presumably, John and Sherlock) from enjoying breaking him down.

"Excellent, John."

There was a sharpness to John's expression as he leaned in, sliding an arm over Sherlock's shoulders as they both watched. "Well, given what he did to us, I'd like to see the little bastard spitted and writhing, and I've got a feeling he likes it as much as he liked strapping me in explosives and getting himself a couple of handfuls."

Oh, and that. That flush, it was unmistakably anger and perhaps a tinge of shame, but Moriarty kept his eyes on Moran, trained tightly as if that could make any difference as to what came next.

"That's enough," Sherlock said, reaching down to pull Moran's hand away from slicking him open for what came next. "John, I believe the phrase is... He's all yours?"

"Oh, that's good." He moved in, shoulder to shoulder with Sherlock for a moment before he reached out to touch Moriarty's thigh. "This is your chance, Moran. Put yourself in him now, or forever hold your peace." 

"Christ. You going to wank yourself to sleep with this?" Moran was doing it, though, reaching down to shift Jim's hips and push that lovely monster of a cock up into him. Mycroft did like how Jim looked sitting on a cock, particularly with those petticoats. 

"Oh hell yes. I haven't even started."

Moriarty's mouth was open, panting in breaths that couldn't be gaining him quite enough oxygen thanks to the tightly laced corset beneath the dress. Mycroft moved closer, just for a better view. Several other people were clearly quite interested in this little scenario; he would undoubtedly have quite the interest in his pets at some later date, and he would enjoy that when the time came. For now, he watched as Watson slid two fingers in alongside Moran's cock, gaze fascinated as he saw the way Moriarty stretched for it, tight ripples of something -- pain, pleasure, who could say? -- shuddering through him.

Moran exhaled hard, and flexed the fingers of one hand on Moriarty's hip. "Fuck. That's..."

"A lot? Yeah, just hold on." John laughed, twisted his fingers sharply for a moment, a firm motion of wrist while he held the dildo aloft. "Can you take as well as you give out, Moriarty?"

The thing of it was that James Moriarty, more than anything, was something like a wild animal. He hadn't had the delicately instructing hand of a mother, not in the same manner as Mycroft and Sherlock, and Mycroft knew the best thing to remember about him could be summed up simply.

When cornered, wild things tended to bite.

It was almost a shame that he had managed to teach him that biting was against his best interests; it had taken quite a lot of time and a truly unreasonable amount of voltage. Still, he could see that desire in the back of those pitch-dark eyes, the way he shifted to stretch his neck and glance over his shoulder. "Sweetheart. Before you can learn to give, you just have to learn to receive. And honey, I learned so well."

"Good." The tube of lube was on the floor, and Watson picked it up, slicking the dildo once he pulled out his fingers. It was quick and workmanlike, and not at all sexy, but he looked deeply determined as he held Moriarty's eyes. "Then this should be fine with you." 

Bitter twist of mouth, a flash of pure fire in his eyes, and when he opened his mouth, Sebastian Moran placed one broad hand over those lips and shook his head. "No, boss."

Under different circumstances, perhaps Moriarty would have bitten him. With Watson beginning to apply pressure, trying to work in the silicon cock alongside Moran's thick meat, he made a choice more aligned with the better part of valor and draped himself over his partner. Most likely, it helped to have that hand muffling whatever sound he made. It was just a shame he couldn't see what Moriarty's cock was doing just then, lost in the spill of petticoats. "Christ, that's lovely. Look at that arse spread out for us." He was working it in and out slowly, lazily. Every now and then, he would glance up at Sherlock, check his expression, and smile, as though it would be a temptation. It certainly was for Mycroft, although Sherlock's expression didn't change. It held fascination and intensity more than anything else, and his eyes were watching the stretched rim of flesh.

Despite Moran's efforts, not all of the sounds little Irish Jimmy made were entirely muffled. They couldn't be, and when John stretched him a little more deeply, pulling up on the slick dildo, he gave the most luscious little whimpers. If he hadn't long since realized that sticking his cock into Moriarty's mouth was a wretched idea, he would doubtless be fucking his way into his throat even now. As it was, he could keep watching, and reach down to lightly press down on his prick with the heel of his hand. It was a picture worth letting last, and when he got them home, he could take care of it his own way. 

"That's enough." Moran's voice sounded ragged, breathing slowly to control himself while John eased out the dildo.

"Like hell it is. Condom, Sherlock?"

"Of course. Wouldn't want you carrying anything home with us, now would we?" Sharp, crystalline speech. Anyone else would think him unaffected.

Mycroft knew him better than that.

As vaguely uncomfortable as it was for both of them to be present, nothing could have induced either of them to leave, particularly once Watson slicked on a condom and slathered his raging erection in lube. Doubtless there would be squelchy lube-sounds all the way home, and Mycroft would delight in them, and in Moriarty's impotent rage.

He watched with less possessive interest than Sherlock did as Watson pressed against the point where Sebastian's dick stretched that tight hole. Mycroft enjoyed stretching Moriarty, and then letting him recover appropriately, so it kept things fresh. "Uhn, and how long did you keep this piece of ass all yours, Moran?"

Jim's shoulders were sharply hunched, the way he gasped for breath clearly not enough. He was making desperate sounds beneath Moran's palm, sweating and shaking and trying to pull away. Watson put his hands in the midst of the layers of petticoats, gripping onto the man's hips to hold him still. Moran didn't answer, and that was unsurprising. He was doubtless familiar with the methods of keeping his tongue for his own sake, and he would certainly apply that to his precious Moriarty. After all, his previous sex partner had also been a sociopath, and failing to rise to the bait was likely a life-extending proposition for the man. He was cheek to cheek with Moriarty, panting a little as he finally removed his hand from Moriarty's mouth. "Oh, Christ, fuck, fuck..."

Fuck, indeed, because John Watson had absolutely no compunction whatsoever about forging his way into the heated depths of that ass, and the tension, the sheer pressure, would have to be almost overwhelming even if a man was expecting it. The sounds from James increased, mouth pressed against Moran's cheek, and it didn't muffle them enough. Pain, then, and some pleasure, and Watson was fumbling about beneath the crumpled petticoats and fluffy tulle. He undoubtedly had a plan, and Mycroft watched carefully, unsurprised when Moriarty's eyes widened with shock.

Nothing surprised him, but the firmly handled reach-around was clearly a surprise to Moriarty as he leaned his head back a little and moaned. Just briefly, there was more pleasure than pain, in between Watson's deep slow thrusts. "Oh yeah, feel that? You're shaking with it, hard as a fucking rock, you love this. You're going to love it when Sherlock does you. You're going to love it when Moran finally comes and Mycroft takes you home and finishes you off."

Such filthy talk from the good captain. Clearly he was hiding quite the expert beneath those ridiculous sweaters and the girlfriends, because he knew exactly what to say. The scent of sex was everywhere, murmurs of appreciation, and it was heady to know that he had managed to put together one of the finest floor shows in the memory of those watching. Moriarty was writhing, trying to get away or get closer, who could say; he was flushed and sweaty and a man in a ridiculous dress, stuffed full of cock and being stroked as though he might actually get to come. He was rather sure Watson wouldn't let it happen, not until at least Sherlock had gotten a turn, but he'd at least fuck the man to the edge and leave him there before trading places.

Sebastian seemed to be having difficulty; his skin was flushed, his teeth grinding together tightly. One hand rested lightly on the back of Moriarty's neck, making tiny, soothing strokes, thumb rubbing just behind his left ear, and that was excellent. In all honesty, Mycroft thought that was more likely to be what finally broke the man, and so he simply allowed it, leaning back with the heady power of having caused all of this.

Power and pleasure, pressure and tenderness. Watson gave a few hard thrusts, and pulled out, gasping and gesturing to Sherlock. "Christ, go, go while he's still hard..." Moran pressed his fingers against Moriarty's shoulder, shifting his own hips almost reflexively in the vacant space Watson had left. It was clear that he wanted to rut into him, wanted very badly to roll them over and fuck him deep and hard and desperately. Moriarty's fingers were tight on his shoulders, though, and the sounds he made now were more akin to a whine than anything else, and so he restrained himself.

Somehow.

Sherlock was eyeing the tableau, and Watson was standing to the side, hard and sex-flushed. "Here," he offered, clear gallantry shining from his eyes. "I'll help." If by help he meant stroke on a condom and lubricant, which perhaps wasn't such a help after all, considering the stiff-spined manner in which Sherlock stood.

Still, he stroked him, lubed Sherlock prior to the condom and then over top of it, leaning into him with easy familiarity as if his brother's posture was perfectly normal and relaxed to him. Yes, Sherlock didn't have to keep John in the attic, the man clearly metaphorically kept himself there quite happily. He was whispering into Sherlock's ear, soft susurration of sound that Mycroft couldn't hear clearly over the movements of the crowd, and when he was done, Sherlock slipped to his knees and slipped into place. Watson was right behind him, and his hand was on Sherlock's erection, helping him to slip into place.

Pushing, slow and relaxed -- none of Watson's urgency and glee in the act, but Mycroft watched his brother's eyes close for a moment, a flutter of what had to be purest enjoyment before the analytic side of his mind took over again. Moran groaned, bending his head in to bite at the side of Moriarty's neck. "Fuck, fuck!"

Fuck, indeed, because Moriarty stayed where he was and just _took it_ , took it and took it, and that made Mycroft want more than anything to see how wide he could stretch him, what it would take to make him come from just the feel of something huge and deep. Sherlock shifted, John's hand on his shoulder, and that was such a delightful sound.

"God, yeah. Look at this..." John slid his arm behind Sherlock's back, absently wanking himself as Sherlock stretched Moriarty's ass to what looked like a breaking point, Moran still buried in him. Moran's hands were shifting, moving in the layers of the dress, holding onto Moriarty as though to keep him from moving, or maybe to help him along. Mycroft was uncertain as to which, but it didn't matter. Not in the least, and then Moriarty moved, and he was kissing Moran, something that Mycroft was almost certain he had never seen. It was lovely and lush, and he wanted to see more of it.

That was where they'd break, and he knew it, the seam between them, and the weakest point would involve moments of tenderness like that, moments that made Mycroft lean forwards in his chair. There was a tension to the way Moriarty's eyes were closed while Sherlock fucked him deep and slowly. Moran stroked the back of his neck, and then Watson reached under the copious tulle and crinolines, went back to jerking him off, and that was when the man came apart. It was all delirious moans and sweaty shuddering, Sherlock fucking him right through it, and Mycroft could only imagine how tight that hole was clamping around the cocks inside of him. 

Coming around them both, while Sherlock kept moving, and kept moving. He stood up, just to get a better view as he got in closer, to smell the sweat and semen, to reach a hand out to stroke Moriarty's hair and have his fingers touch Moran's. This. This was exactly what he wanted. It was a waste of extraordinary talent, but then, Mycroft had talents galore easily available to him. Breaking Moriarty to his will was such a thrill, hearing him sob even moreso, and it didn't matter that his brother was still shifting, breaths uneven.

He wasn't particularly interested in listening to Sherlock orgasm, but Moriarty's soft noises, _real_ noises were thrilling. And when he was thoroughly broken, he'd serve as a perfect supporter to Queen and country. It was just another step along the path.

Mycroft couldn't remember when he had last been so utterly pleased with himself, but he was very certain that he was going to enjoy every single second.


End file.
